


the undone and the divine

by akaparalian



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Dirty Talk, First Time, Hair-pulling, M/M, Misunderstandings, Oral Sex, Praise Kink, Sylvix Week (Fire Emblem), no beta we die like Glenn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-18
Updated: 2019-10-18
Packaged: 2020-12-22 18:49:39
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,638
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21081389
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/akaparalian/pseuds/akaparalian
Summary: Sylvain has slept with a lot of virgins, but he’s never actually courted one.





	the undone and the divine

**Author's Note:**

> For the Sylvix Week prompt "firsts"!
> 
> Title from "Bedroom Hymns" by Florence + the Machine!

The day itself is average — late spring, and pleasant enough, but nothing special on its own. It seems almost funny that such an unremarkable day shifts Sylvain’s life so completely, transposing him from one plane of existence to another without even a memorable circumstance.

It’s all so simple: “Sylvain,” Felix says, shortly, sharply, matter-of-factly, only the tiniest bit breathless, only the tiniest bit flushed. Either of those could be explained by the fact that they’ve been training just as easily as the fact that he might be nervous about what he’s saying, though the way his eyes are darting over Sylvain’s face is much more telling.

“Yeah?” Sylvain answers. He’s carefree, almost care_less_. He has no idea what’s coming.

_Oh,_ he thinks, when Felix reels him in by the front of his shirt and kisses him, the only part of the day which he will later recall in perfect detail. After that, he doesn’t think much of anything, only barely registering the remainder of Felix’s short, sharp, matter-of-fact speech — the bits about how he’s going to court Sylvain and Sylvain is going to stop seeing other people and so help him Sylvain is going to _like it_ (Sylvain doesn’t need to be told that he will like it; Sylvain is relatively certain, by that point, that actually Felix must have struck the back of his head while they were training, and this is all some dream cooked up by his unconscious mind, and any second now he’s going to wake up in the infirmary with only Manuela’s low-cut dress for comfort) are at least somewhat salient, but everything else seems to slip through his mind like water.

He doesn’t wake up — the dream keeps going all the way through Felix frog-marching him to the dining hall and very determinedly eating next to him, shoulder-to-shoulder, both of them still sweaty and dusty from the training yard, and eventually it dawns on him that it’s not a dream at all. Felix kissed him. Felix confessed some approximation of normal human feelings — romantic ones, even. Felix actually said the words _court you_.

Sylvain is, in a word, fucked.

—

Sylvain has slept with a lot of virgins, but he’s never actually courted one.

He’d never say that to Felix’s _face_, obviously, because he may be stupid and he may be reckless, but he isn’t actively suicidal. He’s too blissfully happy right now to want to rock the boat — everything he’s wanted since the first time his little prepubescent heart fluttered at the sight of his best friend has fallen into his lap. Even for him, even with greed and want still pulling as fiercely at him as they always have, an instinct after years of fruitless yearning, it’s hard not to feel blissfully, overwhelmingly lucky.

Because he _is_ lucky. He is, perhaps, the luckiest man alive. He has Felix, whom he has been in love with for longer than he’d ever want to admit out loud, who he has never quite been able to chase from his mind. And he doesn’t have him for one night; this is not a _fling_. Felix seems as deadly serious about this as Sylvain has ever seen him, meaning the burden is on _him_ to not fuck up and chase Felix off.

So, back around to the idea that he has never dated a virgin. His reputation has generally preceded him, both back home and here at Garreg Mach; sweet, demure ladies generally only seek him out if they want something from him, and that something is generally either his crest, in which case he packs them off, or his help in deflowering them, in which case he happily obliges and _then_ packs them off. He has made a point of not tying himself for any length of time to anyone who might have certain expectations, and he has worked hard to ensure that no one he fucks thinks that the fact that he is fucking them is evidence that he will marry them. 

And it’s early to think of _marrying_ Felix — early to start longing for yet another impossible thing, when he’s only just getting used to the idea of the first one. And, to the best of his knowledge, Felix has never had a romantic relationship of any kind with another human being; jumping straight from a first sweetheart to marriage is an insane thought. But all the same… Well. Sylvain tries to shake the thought from his mind.

It’s easy to see how this would go if it were anyone else _but_ Felix, easy to imagine how Sylvain would proceed if he were facing down a relationship with any person he hadn’t been in love with for years and resigned himself to never having, any boy he hadn’t seen grow from a little crybaby to a sullen, righteous, vicious warrior. He’s been in similar enough situations before, after all. If Felix weren’t Felix, if he were just some boy from the village, Sylvain would have no qualms whatsoever about taking him out once, _maybe_ twice, before taking him to a nice, secluded spot with a convenient flat surface and doing his level best to ruin him. This is, or at least has been in the past, a mutually satisfying sort of arrangement, at least up until the point when Sylvain makes it clear he’s not interested in anything especially long-term and one or the other of them decides that they should break things off.

The problem with this scenario is, of course, that for once he finds himself in a situation where he _is_ interested in the long term. And, specifically, he finds himself facing that down with _Felix,_ who is… not always the best at navigating complex emotional situations. Felix also has made it more than clear on many occasions that he is _very_ aware of Sylvain’s romantic history, his _reputation_, and that he doesn’t approve, at all, in any capacity.

So, Sylvain thinks, staring up at his ceiling later that night, with dirt from the training grounds that he’s been too distracted to scrub away still caked under his nails, if the way he would’ve handled this situation in the past — the way he would’ve handled it with some vague, indeterminate not-Felix person — definitely won’t work, then what’s the opposite of that? 

He can’t push it too fast. He can’t rush it. He can’t let Felix think that — well, he can’t let Felix think sex is the only thing on his mind, or even one of the top five things, in this particular situation. He can’t let it seem like _he_ thinks this is a fling, or that he values the theoretical, abstract idea of getting off above the fact that this is _Felix_. Goddess above, he’d gladly fucking _die_ for this boy, let alone sacrifice sex for a few weeks — for however long it takes — to take things slow with him and makes sure he knows exactly how serious Sylvain really is about this.

That will be the plan, then. Go slow. Make sure Felix feels valued, make sure he doesn’t feel rushed — make sure he knows how much Sylvain loves him _well_ before he knows how much Sylvain wants him. Give him time to adjust, because even though Felix may have made the first move, Sylvian is beyond sure that he’s probably lying awake in his own room right now, also having some kind of freak-out, just like Sylvain is. 

Take it slow. Don’t rush him. Don’t give him the wrong idea. Sylvain can handle that. That won’t be hard at all.

—

In Sylvain’s defense, _he_ was doing fine at following his little plan.

The first few days are unexpectedly busy, as Dimitri, with Dedue at his shoulder as always, suddenly and unexpectedly turns up the heat on their group training sessions; between that, and studying for a bout of upcoming exams, he and Felix barely have a moment to be alone at all. Even if he _had_ been planning on proceeding directly to bed, he wouldn’t have been able to. Three nights in a row, he drags himself back to his room after dinner and drops into bed, exhausted, barely even taking notice of the fact that he’s alone.

By the fourth day, when he shows up at breakfast still bleary-eyed and half-functional, Felix is looking more than a little irritated at the state of affairs. He drags Sylvain off immediately after the meal is done, after having sat so close to him throughout that their elbows brushed every time one or the other of them tried to take a bite, but they don’t have a lot of time before Sylvain has to go report to the stables for mucking duty — they get only a few moments alone, which are mostly taken up by Felix staring at Sylvain with luminous amber eyes and laying one hand almost gruffly against his chest.

Sylvain wants to kiss him, _badly_; the first time had been wonderful, but it had been so sudden, and he’d been so shocked by the whole encounter that he hadn’t really made the most of it. He wants more than that, and better, and — well, kissing isn’t off the table, is it? Hells, Felix had started this whole thing off with kissing; surely it’s fine. The thought is cheering, and it’s enough to carry Sylvain through his duties at the stable and all the way until he and Felix — and the rest of the house, but who cares about _them_ — meet back up for a late-morning sparring session with some of the knights. 

Of course, getting the stuffing beat out of him by Thunder Catherine isn’t exactly the most opportune scenario for sneaking off to go and make out with his boyfriend rather than training — not to mention that trying to get Felix to skive off training probably doesn’t qualify as putting his best foot forward. He settles for just watching Felix, instead, any time he has a spare moment to catch his breath: Felix in his shirtsleeves, Felix swinging his sword cleanly and with perfect control, Felix with sweat shining on his brow, dripping down his neck, dampening the small of his back —

Eventually he has to look away. He knows from a few very regrettable previous experiences that trying to fight with a hard-on is neither easy nor fun.

“Sylvain!” Dimitri calls, waving him over as they wrap up the sparring session and everyone starts to disperse to get food before classes. Sylvain bites back a groan, but a quick glance confirms that Felix is already wandering toward the dining hall in conversation with Annette and Mercedes anyway, so he resigns himself to a few more hours apart and walks over to his prince with a smile that hopefully doesn’t at all convey how much he wants to run after Felix instead.

Still, not being able to find time alone means that there’s not even any temptation to go farther or faster than he intends to, Sylvain muses as he more-or-less tunes Dimitri out on their walk to the dining hall. If he can only spend time with Felix when they’re also with their friends and classmates — well, there’s significantly less of an urge to throw him up against the nearest wall, for starters. He’s three and a half days into his plan to take things slow, and so far, he’s managing just fine — the fact that he’s jerking off more than he can remember doing since the first throes of puberty is beside the point — but having any temptation completely removed from the realm of possibility is probably for the best, anyway. He’s doing great; why mess with that? Hanging out together in public is probably good at this stage of a relationship, anyway.

That’s when Felix grabs him.

—

Sylvain doesn’t even really understand what’s happening until they’re halfway across the monastery grounds and the door of an empty classroom is slamming behind them.

“Felix, what—” he says, or tries to say, because as soon as the door is closed, Felix is shoving him against it and climbing him like a tree, and there’s a bruising kiss being pressed to Sylvain’s mouth that makes it awfully hard to get out coherent sentences.

His head is spinning. Somewhere out there, he’s sure, poor Dimitri is staring off after them with no idea what just happened, and Sylvain can empathize with that. Also: Felix has both hands buried tightly in his hair, one leg hitched up over his hips, and it is going to become very evident very soon that Sylvain’s dick has never been as on-board with the whole idea of taking things slow as Sylvain’s brain has.

“Hey,” he manages, pulling away just enough to speak; Felix grunts at him, clearly irritated, and yanks on his hair hard enough to bring their mouths together again. Sylvain groans at the stinging sensation, which can’t really be helped, but probably isn’t doing him any favors in terms of getting Felix to slow down.

It’s notably difficult, with Felix’s tongue in his mouth and his fingers still tugging sort of rhythmically at his hair, but Sylvain finally regains enough control of his limbs — and the situation — to shove at Felix’s chest. This, at last, does a somewhat more effective job of getting him to back off enough that Sylvain can gape at him, panting. 

“What the hell,” he manages, the only thing that comes to mind. It doesn’t help that Felix is staring up at him, defiant, with kiss-bruised lips and flushed cheeks, eyebrows raised, his hair all in disarray and his face still sheened in sweat from training earlier; that would be enough to wreck Sylvain’s thought processes in a _normal_ situation, let alone when Felix has, apparently, dragged him off to ravish him. “We can’t — What—”

“Oh, shut up,” Felix says with a roll of his eyes, and moves in closer again, though this time, at least, he presses kisses to the hinge of Sylvain’s jaw and down his throat, which leaves them both free to speak. “Don’t grow a conscience on me now, you prick.”

That stings a little, and Sylvain’s wince must be violent enough for Felix to notice even without being able to see his face; he leans back and studies Sylvain with narrowed eyes, before huffing and pressing a much gentler, sweeter kiss to the corner of his mouth. “Don’t be dramatic. I just mean, I’ve never known you to worry about missing out on team bonding time in favor of getting your dick wet.”

Sylvain chokes, but this time Felix doesn’t seem to notice, becuase even as he was speaking he had been leaning in to nibble at the shell of Sylvain’s ear, and now he’s — oh, Goddess help him, Sylvain thinks as Felix starts to bite down his throat and then shoves the collar of his shirt aside to get at his collarbone. He’s on a distinct path downward.

He’s either going to hell or he’s about to ascend; he hasn’t quite decided yet. Either way, when Felix drops abruptly to his knees, he feels all the air leave his body.

“Felix, you—” _You don’t have to_, he tries to say, except it’s too late, because the way Felix is mouthing at him through his trousers has stolen both the air from his lungs and any claim he may ever have had to higher brain function. Sylvain gasps, which feels like all he _can_ do, and his head falls back against the wall with a solid _thump_; Felix looks up at him, eyes glinting from under the thick, dark sweep of his lashes, just a hint of amber from under heavy lids. He’s clearly amused, but Sylvain can’t process much more than that through the combined forces of shock and arousal and raw affection.

And then, before he can overcome the surprise and get himself back under control enough to try and figure out exactly what the hell is going on here, there are clever, calloused fingers slipping under his waistband and then nimbly unlacing his trousers. Felix’s hands are warm, and Sylvain feels his stomach jump under the scratch of blunt nails across his abdomen. Holy _shit_.

“Did I break you?” Felix asks, his lips brushing against Sylvain’s bare thigh now — when did his pants get to be on the floor? “That’s a bit of a surprise. I haven’t even _done_ anything yet.”

He nuzzles into the crease of Sylvain’s hip and sighs a little, sounding entirely too pleased with himself, the bastard; Sylvain is pretty sure he should be able to snap back at him about that, some form of _What the hell do you _mean_ you haven’t done anything, I’m going to get off just thinking about the way your face looks right now for _weeks, but nothing actually makes it out of his lips, though his mouth is hanging open.

And then all of the sudden, his underwear is gone, and matters are even more out of control, the last thin barrier between them out of the way, and before he even sort of has a chance to get his brain and his mouth on the same page again, Felix is tilting his head and making an appreciative little noise that hits Sylvain like a fifty-pound weight directly to the chest and has him very visibly twitching.

“Your exploits make a lot more sense now,” Felix says. _His_ voice is almost perfectly even, the bastard, with just the slightest hint of breathiness to indicate that he’s even impacted at all by anything that’s happening, which isn’t _fair_, and which doesn’t make _sense_. Obviously Felix is a capable sort of guy, a quick study, determined, and level-headed enough until you piss him off, but he’s also a virgin, and Sylvain… Well, Sylvain has some experience with virgins, and he’s never known one to react to giving a first blowjob in anything close to this way. “I figured there had to be _something_ to keep them coming back, what with the way you treated them.”

“Excuse you,” Sylvain says — _says_, does not gasp, his breathing is under control, everything is _under control_ — as both of Felix’s hands creep up and down his thighs, scratching lightly. “I’m a fucking gentleman.”

“Oh, _that_ gets you to talk, huh?” Felix murmurs, and then without further preamble he ducks down to press a wet, open kiss to the head of Sylvain’s dick.

“_Fuck!”_ Sylvain all but shouts, both out of surprise and because even that first little hint of Felix’s mouth is — is — more than he could have ever known to hope for, _holy shit_. “Oh, saints and stars, Felix, what the fuck —”

Felix wraps a hand around the base of his dick and stares up with one eyebrow raised, Sylvain’s cockhead resting just on the plush curve of his lower lip. “You _have_ had a blowjob before, yes?” he asks dryly. “I’m starting to doubt it. Could you not get even _one_ of your dozens of lovers to do this for you?”

“Fuck you,” Sylvain responds automatically, then finally manages to bite out, “_That’s_ not the problem. It’s — it’s—”

“Yes?” Felix prompts, when Sylvain’s words fail him once again, squeezing lightly and then oh-so-slowly stroking his fingers down the shaft to tease just under the head. When Sylvain still doesn’t say anything, the tiniest hint of pink tongue creeps out from between Felix’s lips, and _Goddess above_, how in all the years they’ve known each other — several of which have involved imagining more or less this exact scenario ad nauseum — did Sylvain never fucking guess that Felix would be such a tease?

“It’s because it’s _you_,” finally manages to choke out, and immediately wishes he hadn’t. Of all the embarrassing fucking things to say when your new lover is about to suck your cock for the first time — even given that said new lover also happens to be your oldest friend, although, actually, that might just make it _worse_ — 

But Felix doesn’t laugh, or tease, or scoff. On the contrary, his gaze softens, and he leans back just a little, putting just enough space between them to allow Sylvain to look him in the eye and still be able to maintain a coherent train of thought.

“Careful, Sylvain,” Felix says softly. “Keep talking like that and I’ll start thinking I tamed the biggest manwhore in all of Fodlan.”

_You have,_ Sylvain thinks. _You could have any time you wanted, and now you finally have_.

“My mistake,” he says, voice raspy and low, and Felix laughs.

“As long as we’re on the same page,” he says easily, and Sylvain gets a scant few seconds to brace himself this time before Felix leans back in.

His heart is pounding so loudly in his ears that he can hardly hear anything else, but he strains past it to hear the slick, wet sounds as Felix parts his lip to draw the head of Sylvain’s cock into his mouth. He sucks only loosely, keeping his mouth soft and mostly slack, but it’s _heavenly_ — wet and hot, enough to have Sylvain’s hips jerking forward uselessly against Felix’s grip. He gets a warning squeeze — both with the hand on his hip and the one wrapped around the base of his cock — but he also gets Felix moving another inch or so down, lips and tongue working expertly as he slowly starts to bob his head, taking just a little bit more each time, and — 

Oh.

Expertly.

There is _no way_ this is a virgin blowjob. Even someone as determined — as single-minded — as Felix couldn’t have picked it up _this_ quickly. Sylvain has, clearly, misunderstood some fucking _critical_ elements of this situation.

But as soon as this revelation comes to him, it’s gone again, chased right out of his brain by the sounds of his own moans as Felix pulls off for a moment to kiss his way down the shaft until he meets his own hand and then lick back up, and then, looking Sylvain straight in the eyes, he moves his hand out of the way and promptly sinks down all at once until Sylvain’s cock is nestled snugly against the back of his throat.

Sylvain has his hands in Felix’s hair before he even gets a chance to think about it, which luckily Felix doesn’t seem to mind; he makes an encouraging noise, even, when Sylvain reaches blindly for the tie holding his hair back, and groans appreciatively when Sylvain finally sinks his fingers into those silky black strangs and _tugs_, just a little. The sound is gorgeous, and the vibration of Felix’s throat around his cock is doubly so, and in other words, Sylvain promptly tugs again, _much_ harder this time.

Felix shifts, clearly affected; the movement is slight, but it’s enough, and Sylvain doesn’t even try to bite down on his grin.

“Oh, I had _hoped_ you would like that,” he says, finally feeling at least a little like they’re on a level playing field again. “I just didn’t think I’d get to find out this soon. But if you like me pulling your hair, I wonder what else…?”

He trails off significantly — suggestion can be even better than outright statements at a time like this — and watches in delight as a blush stains Felix’s cheeks even as he narrows his eyes in something like playful irritation. He bobs his head until Sylvain sinks just that much further down his throat and then swallows almost pointedly, and Sylvain nearly chokes on a laugh. 

“Don’t worry, we can come back around to that,” he says breathlessly, fingers contracting and loosening over and over again in Felix’s hair, tugging in time with the way Felix moves his mouth. “For now, just — _yeah_, like that, Felix, goddess above. How are you so…”

Felix makes another appreciative little noise, and shifts again — Sylvain wonders, with a giddy rush, how long it will take before he takes his free hand off of Sylvain’s hip to touch himself — and his eyes flutter closed, and Sylvain zeroes in on what seems to be _another_ kink. He is the luckiest man in the entire fucking universe.

“You’re fucking gorgeous,” he groans, and Felix makes a noise like a wounded animal. Oh, _yes._ Sylvain likes the way this is going _very much_. “Just look at you, saints. So fucking hot.”

Felix squirms and flushes and bobs his head relentlessly, slick, intoxicating sounds echoing between them as Sylvain’s cock slides in and out of his throat — so _deep_, shit, and Felix’s lips are red and his eyes are fluttering under mostly-closed lids, and Sylvain… Sylvain has a reputation, to be sure, and a well-earned one at that, but he’s only human, and he’s teetering closer and closer to the edge with alarming speed.

He tugs on Felix’s hair again, a warning this time, and when he says, “Shit, Felix — _Felix,_ babe, you’re going to make me come,” Felix makes an absolutely _delighted_ noise and redoubles his efforts, the perfect warm, wet suction and one hand dipping behind Sylvains’ balls to press up firmly just in front of his hole, and at that point it’s kind of the end for him.

He yells something when he comes, but for the life of him he has no idea what; the only thing he’s really aware of, beyond the white-hot, overwhelming pleasure, is a high-pitched and desperate keening, a needy sound that most definitely is not coming from his own throat. Felix — that’s _Felix_, and when Sylvain has the presence of mind to crack his eyes open, he finds that he has in fact missed the exact moment when Felix fought his trousers open and started touching himself, but at least he doesn’t miss the best part. Felix comes in no time at all, choking a little around Sylvain’s cock, which hasn’t yet started to soften, still in his mouth, in his throat, as he cries out — which is a _lot_, but in this moment, at least, Sylvain doesn’t mind the pleasure-pain of the overstimulation one bit.

“I was gonna,” Sylvain says breathlessly, as he watches Felix shake through the aftershocks. “I was gonna — fuck. Next time, huh?”

Felix finally pulls off of him with an absolutely filthy noise, his eyes still half-lidded and glassy, and collapses slightly to the side, resting his forehead against Sylvain’s thigh.

“Next time,” he agrees; he’s wheezing, and his throat sounds _wrecked_, but he also sounds incredibly smug — incredibly pleased with himself — and that finally, _finally_ triggers the right combination of signals in Sylvain’s mind to let him spit out the thought he’s been desperately trying to put into words since Felix first got to his knees.

“Goddess above, Fraldarius,” he says, and Felix blinks up at him, completely blissed out and relaxed. “Where the hell did _that_ come from?”

Felix doesn’t quite seem to get exactly how shocked he really is. He smirks up at Sylvain and then lurches to his feet, bringing them more or less to eye level.

“I wouldn’t expect _you_ of all people to be shocked,” he says, shrugging and smirking and generally looking annoyingly, unconscionably attractive, especially with the mussed hair and bruised, reddened lips. “I was expecting you to pounce on me right in front of everyone if we went much longer without getting some time alone. So I guess you could say this came from self-preservation,” he muses, drawling, “thought I won’t pretend I wasn’t… interested for my own sake. Obviously.”

“Interested—” Sylvain sputters, his jaw falling open in possibly the most undignified way possible. “That’s not even what I — you — _when did you—”_

Felix cocks an eyebrow. “When did I…?”

“When did you learn to suck cock like that?!” Sylvain finally, _finally_ manages, and it’s _Felix’s_ turn, at long last, to look slightly flabbergasted as his jaw practically hits the floor. “Or — or at _all?_ Saints, Felix, I thought you were a fucking virgin until about five minutes ago!”

There’s a moment of shocked, near--perfect silence, broken only by Sylvain’s heavy breathing. His chest heaves, and meanwhile Felix just stands there, face completely blank, staring at Sylvain wordlessly. 

Finally, after a silence so long that Sylvain was starting to consider apologizing preemptively, even though he has no idea if he even did anything wrong, Felix slowly says, “You thought I was a virgin?”

“Yes?” Sylvain answers, then clears his throat. “I mean. Yes. It’s not like I’ve ever seen you show interest in anyone before this, at least not since we were too small to mean anything by it; what was I _supposed_ to think.”

Another, shorter pause. “Just because I wasn’t as obvious as you doesn’t mean I wasn’t _interested_ in anyone, nor that I never acted on that interest,” Felix says, but he pushes on before Sylvain has a chance to respond. “Were you trying to… take it slow with me? Be considerate? That’s why you haven’t been as… proactive as I expected?”

“Yes,” Sylvain says again. He hesitates for only a moment before adding, in a softer voice, “I know what — well — what you were probably expecting. But with you, Felix, I… I wasn’t going to let thinking with my dick fuck it up.”

Felix makes a low, considering sound. “And are you disappointed? That you’re not my first?”

Sylvain chokes on his next breath in.

“Uh, _no!”_ he says, as soon as he’s done hacking up a lung. “Are you fucking kidding?”

Just like that, Felix’s face softens and his eyes clear; he snorts out a laugh, and Sylvain’s shoulders slump in answering relief.

“You’re sure?” Felix teases, smirking, and lifts one eyebrow. “I can pretend not to know what I’m doing if you want.”

“I mean, I won’t lie,” Sylvain tells him, an answering smirk slowly pulling at his lips. “The idea of deflowering you was super hot. But that would have only been one time, and compared to getting blown like _that_ on a regular basis…” He shrugs expressively.

“Right,” Felix says dryly. “Glad to know you appreciate me for my finer qualities, you bastard.” But he doesn’t look actually upset at all, so Sylvain just leans in for a kiss, which seems like the best possible use of his energy from now until the rest of time, honestly.

“So,” he says a moment later, when he’s done distracting himself with the soft, plush feel of Felix’s lips and the way he sighs under Sylvain’s mouth. “If you’re _not_ a virgin, and I’m _not_ going to fuck things up by going too fast…”

“Come to my room tonight,” Felix interrupts. There’s a little flare of heat in his eyes as he says it that makes an answering twinge course through Sylvain’s body, and if it weren’t for the fact that they still haven’t gone to lunch and he’s going to start regretting that if it goes on for much longer, he’d consider seeing where that feeling takes them. No use having a young person’s refractory period if you don’t use it, after all…

Right. Not the point. Felix is still looking at him, waiting for an answer.

“I’ll be there,” Sylvain promises, ducking in to sneak a quick kiss for good measure. “As often as you want me.”

“I doubt that,” Felix mutters. “Unless your want to start skipping all of our lessons.”

“Don’t tempt me,” Sylvain says, and Felix snorts at him, then sighs and gestures to Sylvain’s trousers, still pooled on the floor.

“Get dressed,” he says, tidying up his own clothes even as he speaks. “If we miss lunch, I’ll kill you.”

“Hey, _you’re _the one who basically dragged me off without a warning!” Sylvain protests, but he’s grinning, unable to tamp down on the joy and warmth bubbling in his chest. “If we miss lunch, it’ll be _your _fault.”

“Not if you want me to blow you again, it won’t.”

“Rude,” Sylvain complains, then, “wait _up!_”, because Felix is already dressed and trying to shove past him to get out the door.

“I’m not waiting for you,” Felix calls over his shoulder, smirking, as they tumble out into the sunlight together. “Keep up or starve.”

They fall easily into bickering as they wind their way through the monastery toward the dining hall, but under the surface, Sylvain can’t help but focus instead on the way Felix will look back at him when he thinks Sylvain isn’t paying attention, or the way the light catches on his hair as they walk… or, to be fair, the way he can feel bite marks throbbing on his own neck where Felix had gotten perhaps a little overzealous in his attentions.

“Hey,” he says, catching Felix’s elbow as they reach the dining hall, just before he steps through the open door. “I just — I hope this doesn’t change anything?”

Felix looks at him like he’s stupid. “It changes _some_ things. It means I can fuck you and you won’t freak out about it all over again, for starters.”

“Oh, come on, you know what I mean,” Sylvain huffs, glancing quickly over Felix’s shoulder to make sure no one overheard that particular comment.

There’s a brief moment of silence, and then something in Felix’s eyes softens. “Yes,” he says. “I do. And…” He huffs. “I was the one who came after _you_, jackass. I _have_ been, this whole time. So no, it doesn’t change anything.”

Sylvain studies him for a long moment. His eyes are clear and warm, his gaze for once not cutting, and he’s smiling very slightly. 

“Okay,” he says, when he feels like he can no longer justify the staring. There will be time for that later — or at least he fucking hopes so. “Okay, then let’s get some lunch.” And they step inside together, shoulders brushing, moving in one another’s orbit as if they’ve never existed any other way. 

**Author's Note:**

> Find me on [Twitter!](http://twitter.com/akaparalian)


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